While Mr. Pounce and Mr. Quod, after their own quaint fashion, are doing decisive battle with each other in a remote corner of the field of action; and while—to change the figure—Mr. Titmouse's pedigree is being subjected to the gloomy, silent, and mysterious inquisition of the ecclesiastical court, let us turn for a moment to contemplate a pitiable figure, a victim of the infernal machinations of Mr. Gammon—I mean the poor old Earl of Dreddlington. He was yet—a month after the death of his unhappy daughter, Lady Cecilia—staggering under the awful shock which he had experienced. Before he had been in any degree restored to consciousness, she had been buried for nearly three weeks; and the earliest notification to him of the melancholy occurrence, was the deep mourning habiliments of Miss Macspleuchan, who scarcely ever quitted his bedside. When, in a feeble and tremulous voice, he inquired as to the cause of his daughter's death, he could get no other account of it—either from Miss Macspleuchan, his physicians, or the Duke of Tantallan—than that it had been occasioned by the shock of suddenly seeing his Lordship brought home seriously ill, she being, moreover, in a very critical state of health. When, at length, he pressed and challenged Miss Macspleuchan upon the matter—viz. the reality of the blighting discovery of Mr. Titmouse's illegitimacy—she resolutely maintained that he was laboring altogether under a delusion—indeed a double delusion; first, as to his imaginary conversation with Mr. Gammon; and secondly, as to his supposed communication of it to Lady Cecilia. Her heart was smitten, however, by the steadfast look of mournful incredulity with which the earl regarded her from time to time; and, when alone, she reproached herself in tears with the fraud she was practising upon the desolate and broken-hearted old man. The duke, however, seconded by the physician, was peremptory on the point, believing that otherwise the earl's recovery was impossible; and as his Grace invaluably joined Miss Macspleuchan in treating the mere mention of the matter as but the figment of a disordered brain, the poor earl was at length silenced if not convinced. He peremptorily prohibited Mr. Titmouse, however, from entering his house—much more from appearing in his presence; and there was little difficulty in making that gentleman seem satisfied that the sole cause of his exclusion was his cruelty and profligacy towards the late Lady Cecilia:—whereas, he knew all the while, and with a sickening inward shudder, the real reason—of which he had been apprised by Mr. Gammon. Very shortly after the earl's illness, the Duke of Tantallan had sent for Mr. Titmouse to interrogate him upon the subject of his Lordship's representations; but Mr. Gammon had been beforehand with the duke, and thoroughly tutored Titmouse—dull and weak though he was—in the part he was to play, and which Mr. Gammon had striven to make as easy to him as possible. The little ape started with well-feigned astonishment, indignation, and disgust, as soon as the duke had mentioned the matter, and said very little—(such were Gammon's peremptory injunctions)—and that little only in expression of amazement—that any one could attach the slightest importance to the mere wanderings of a brain disturbed by illness. 'Twas certainly a ticklish matter, the duke felt, to press too far, or to think of intrusting it to third parties. His Grace very naturally concluded, that what his own superior tact and acuteness had failed in eliciting, could be detected by no one else. He frequently pressed Mr. Gammon, however, upon the subject; but that gentleman maintained the same calm front he had exhibited when first questioned by the duke; giving the same account of all he knew of Titmouse's pedigree—and clinching the matter by sending to his Grace a copy of the brief, and of the short-hand writer's notes of the trial—challenging, at the same time, the most rigorous investigation into every circumstance in the case. It was very natural for the duke, under these circumstances, to yield at length, and feel satisfied that the whole affair rested on no other basis than the distempered brain of his suffering kinsman. Nothing shook his Grace more, however, than the sight of Titmouse: for he looked, verily, one whom it was exceedingly difficult to suppose possessed of one drop of aristocratic blood!—Miss Macspleuchan, a woman of superior acuteness, was infinitely more difficult to satisfy upon the subject than the duke; and though she said little, her manner showed that she was satisfied of the existence of some dreadful mystery or other, connected with Mr. Titmouse, of which Mr. Gammon was master—and the premature discovery of which had produced the deplorable effects upon the earl under which he was at that moment suffering. The earl, when alone with her, and unconscious of her presence, talked to himself constantly in the same strain; and when conversing with her, in his intervals of consciousness, repeated over and over again, without the slightest variation, facts which seemed as it were to have been burned in upon his brain. Miss Macspleuchan had—to conceal nothing from the reader—begun to cherish very warm feelings of attachment to Mr. Gammon; whose striking person, fascinating conversation, and flattering attention to herself—a thing quite unusual on the part of any of the earl's visitors—were well calculated to conduce to such a result. But from the moment of Lord Dreddlington's having made the statement which had been attended by such dreadful consequences, her feelings towards Mr. Gammon had been completely chilled and alienated. Her demeanor, on the few occasions of their meeting, was constrained and distant; her countenance clouded with suspicion, her manners frozen with reserve and hauteur.
Mr. Gammon's first interview with the earl, after his illness and bereavement, had become a matter of absolute necessity—and was at his Lordship's instance; his wishes being conveyed through the Duke of Tantallan, who had intimated to him that it was indeed indispensable, if only to settle some matters of business, of pressing exigency, connected with the failure of the Artificial Rain Company. The duke was with his noble kinsman at the time of Mr. Gammon's calling—having intended to be present at the interview. They awaited his arrival in the earl's library. It is very difficult to describe the feelings with which Mr. Gammon anticipated and prepared for the appointed interview with the man on whom he had inflicted such frightful evil, towards whom he felt that he had acted the part of a fiend. How had he dealt with the absolute and unrestrained confidence which the earl had reposed in him! The main prop and pillar of the earl's existence—family pride—Gammon had snapped asunder beneath him; and as for fortune—Gammon knew that the earl was absolutely ruined. Not, however, that Gammon really felt any commiseration for his victim: his anxiety was only as to how he should extricate himself from liability in respect of it. And had not a man of even his marble heart cause for apprehension, in approaching the earl on that occasion, to be interrogated concerning Titmouse—to look the earl in the face, and deny what had passed between them;—and that, too, when the rigid investigation was pending which might, within a few short weeks, convict and expose him to the scorn—the indignation—of society, as a monster of fraud and falsehood?
The earl sat in his library, dressed in deep black, which hung upon his shrunk attenuated figure, as upon an old skeleton. He looked twenty years older than he had appeared two short months before. His hair, white as snow, his pallid emaciated cheek, his weak and wandering eye, and a slight tremulous motion about his head and shoulders—all showed the mere wreck of a man that he had become, and would have shocked and subdued the feelings of any beholder. What a contrast he presented to the portly and commanding figure of the Duke of Tantallan, who sat beside him, with a brow clouded by anxiety and apprehension! At length—"Mr. Gammon, my Lord," said the servant, in a low tone, after gently opening the door.
"Show him in," said the duke, rather nervously, adding to the earl in a hurried whisper,—"now be calm—my dear Dreddlington—be calm—it will be over in a few minutes' time."—The earl's lips quivered a little, his thin white hands trembled, and his eyes were directed towards the door with a look of most mournful apprehension, as the fiend entered. Mr. Gammon was pale, and evidently nervous and excited; his habitual self-command, however, would have concealed it from any but a practised observer. What a glance was that with which he first saw the earl!—"It gives me deep pain, my Lord," said he, in a low tone, slowly advancing with an air of profound deference and sympathy, "to perceive that you have been so great a sufferer."
"Will you take a chair, sir?" said the duke, pointing to one which the servant had brought for him, and in which Gammon sat down, with a courteous inclination towards the duke; and observing that Lord Dreddlington's face had become suddenly flushed, while his lips moved as if he were speaking, "You see," added his Grace, "that my Lord Dreddlington is but slowly recovering!"—Gammon sighed, and gazed at the earl with an expression of infinite concern.
"Is it true, sir?" inquired the earl, after a moment's interval of silence—evidently with a desperate effort.
Gammon felt both of his companions eying him intently, as he answered calmly—"Alas!—your Lordship of course alludes to that unhappy Company"——
"Is it true, sir?" repeated the earl, altogether disregarding Gammon's attempt at evasion.
"You cannot but be aware, Mr. Gammon, of the subject to which my Lord Dreddlington is alluding"—said the duke, sternly, in a low tone.
"Oh!" exclaimed Gammon, with a slight shrug of his shoulders and a sigh—"I understand that your Lordship is referring to some conversation which you supposed has passed between your Lordship and me concerning Mr. Titmouse!"
"Sir—sir—yes! yes!" gasped the earl, gazing at him intently.
"Well, my Lord, I have heard with inexpressible astonishment that you suppose I told your Lordship that he was illegitimate."
"Ay," said the earl, with tremulous eagerness.
"Oh, my Lord, you are really laboring under as complete a delusion as ever man"—commenced Gammon, with a melancholy smile.
"Sir—Mr. Gammon—do you believe that there is no God?—that He does not know the—the"—interrupted the earl, but ceased, apparently overpowered by his emotions. Gammon looked in appealing silence at the duke.
"What makes you imagine, sir, that I am bereft of reason and memory?" presently inquired the earl, with a strength of voice and manner which alarmed Gammon.
"I cannot account, my Lord, for the extraordinary hallucination which seems"——
"And I suppose, sir, I am equally dreaming about the rent-charge for two thousand a-year, which you have got on the Yatton pro"——
"Oh, pardon—pardon me, my Lord! All pure—absolute delusion and fiction!" interrupted Gammon, with a confident smile, a look, and a tone of voice, which would have staggered the most incredulous.
The earl raised his thin white trembling hand, and pressed it against his forehead for a moment; and then said, turning to the duke—"He would deny that he is now in our presence!"
"My dear Dreddlington—don't, for God's sake, excite yourself," said the duke, anxiously; adding after a pause, "I am as persuaded as I am of my existence, that you're under a complete delusion! Recollect your serious illness—every one is subject to this sort of thing when he's been so ill as you have!"
"Oh, Tantallan! Tantallan!" replied the earl, mournfully shaking his head—"I take God to witness how this man is lying!" The duke glanced hastily at Gammon as these words were uttered, and observed that he had gone suddenly pale, and was in the act of rising from his chair.
"Pray, Mr. Gammon"——commenced the duke, imploringly.
"I can make very great allowance, I assure your Grace, for his Lordship's situation—but there are bounds which I will permit no man living, under any circumstances, to overstep with impunity," said Gammon, calmly but resolutely—overjoyed at obtaining such a pretext for abruptly terminating the embarrassing interview—"and unless his Lordship chooses instantly to retract what he has said, and apologize for it, I will never enter his presence again!"
"Oh—he had better go!" said the earl, feebly, addressing the duke, evidently averting his face from Gammon with disgust and horror.
"Mr. Gammon, pray resume your seat," said the duke, significantly—"You are bound to regard the words as not having been spoken."
"I thank your Grace," replied Gammon, determinedly—"but I require an explicit retractation. I entertain a deep deference towards your Grace, but am also aware of what is due to myself. My Lord," he added, as if at a sudden impulse, addressing the earl, "do permit me to request your Lordship to withdraw and apologize for"——But the earl turned his face aside; and extending his hand towards Gammon, feebly motioned him away; on which, with a low bow to the Duke of Tantallan, Gammon took his hat and moved towards the door.
"Sir—Mr. Gammon—you must not go," said the duke, in an earnest and commanding manner—"you are here on business, of pressing importance—all this must pass away and be forgotten."
"Your Grace I shall be most happy to attend at any time, and anywhere; but this room I quit instantly."
"Then, sir, have the goodness to walk into the next," said the duke, somewhat imperiously, "and I will come to you presently." Mr. Gammon bowed and withdrew.
"Oh God! how atrocious is the conduct of that man!" said the earl, when they were left alone.
"Really, Dreddlington, you must get rid of these—these—absurd notions."
"Let me never see his face again!" replied the earl, feebly. "I have but a short time to live, and that time the sight of him, I feel, makes still shorter!" The duke looked both vexed and embarrassed.
"Come—come—now he's here," continued his Grace, "and on a very important errand—let us have done with the fellow—let us have him back, and I'll tell him you withdraw"——
"Withdraw? He is withdrawn," replied the earl, confusedly.
"What d'ye mean, my dear Dreddlington? I say—let me tell him"——
"I mean, it was at his chambers, in Holborn—I pledge my honor, I recollect as if it were yester"——
"Pho, pho!" cried the duke, rather impatiently—"it must be done! He's come on matters of the very last importance—the thing's been put off to the very latest moment on your account—that cursed Company!" The earl looked up at his companion, and a faint smile flitted over his wasted features.
"Ah—I'm now satisfied," said he, shaking his head—"that they must dig a very great depth, indeed, before they come to the copper." The duke looked puzzled, but said hastily, "That's right!—I'll have him back, and you'll allow me to say it's all a mistake?"
"Certainly—I am satisfied of it."
"That will do, my dear Dreddlington!—That's the way such nonsense should be put an end to," said the duke, and, ringing the bell, ordered the servant to request Mr. Gammon to return. After a brief interval, that gentleman re-entered the library, but with some sternness and reluctance of manner.
"Mr. Gammon," replied the duke, a little quickly, "my Lord Dreddlington owns he was mistaken—he, of course, withdraws the expression—so we had better at once to business"——
"Ay—certainly!—certainly! Have you the papers with you, Mr. Gammon?" inquired the earl, while his trembling fingers held his gold spectacles. Mr. Gammon bowed rather haughtily, and resuming the chair he had quitted, drew it to the table, and opened a little packet.
"It was a ridiculous affair, I am afraid, sir," said the earl, addressing Mr. Gammon, who felt a little surprised at the altered look and tone of the earl.
"I fear it was extremely unfortunate, my Lord, in its issue," he replied gravely, arranging his papers.
"The thing did not look so absurd at first, Tantallan, I assure you!" said the earl, addressing the duke, who was eying Mr. Gammon's movements with much anxiety; for he had come prepared to state the final result of long negotiations between the creditors and the directors and shareholders of the "Artificial Rain Company."
"These things never do—at first," his Grace replied with a sort of sigh.
"Just show us, Mr. Gammon," said the earl, "if you please, the diagrams and the sections of the strata"——-
"The what?" inquired the duke, turning surprisedly to the earl—so did Mr. Gammon, and for a moment ceased arranging his papers. Both the duke and he turned pale, and gazed in silent dismay at their companion. Gammon felt momentarily sick at heart. It was evident that Lord Dreddlington's mind had gently given way!—There was a smile of indescribable weakness flickering about the mouth; the eyes were unsteady; all sternness had vanished from his brow; and his manner was calm, with even an approach towards cheerfulness. Gammon's face was suddenly blanched, and he glanced with horror at the duke, who, without removing his eyes from Lord Dreddlington, unconsciously exclaimed, "Oh my God!"
"Is it your Lordship's pleasure"——faltered Gammon, his hands trembling visibly.
"You are right, Tantallan," said Lord Dreddlington, as if suddenly struck by the peculiar look with which the duke continued to regard him. "You shall hear all; but we must be alone. Sir, you may retire, and be in attendance another day," he added, abruptly addressing Gammon, with all his former stateliness of manner, but with a feeble voice. Mr. Gammon, very greatly agitated, hastily put together the documents which he had partially arranged on the table, and with a profound bow withdrew.
"At nine this evening—in Portman Square, sir, if you please," said the duke, tremulously.
"I will attend your Grace," said Gammon, and with not a little trepidation closed the door after him; on which the earl proceeded, in a very anxious and mysterious manner, to intimate the existence of a conspiracy on the part of the Earl of Fitzwalter and others, to prevent his—Lord Dreddlington's—obtaining a marquisate, on the ground that he had been connected with Sir Sharper Bubble in a swindling company; and his Lordship had good grounds for believing that Mr. Gammon was secretly lending his assistance to the undertaking, and his coming there that morning with the papers relating to the intended purchase of the Isle of Dogs, was in furtherance of his treacherous objects! The duke listened in silent dismay to this rambling account of the imaginary conspiracy, and had just determined upon quietly sending for Miss Macspleuchan, when the earl abruptly paused, and after a confused stare at his companion, pressed his hand to his forehead, and said with hesitation and embarrassment—"Pray, Tantallan, don't think anything more about what I have been saying! I—I—feel that I have been talking nonsense—incoherently—Surely it must have struck you so? Eh, Tantallan?"
There was something so imbecile and miserable in the look with which the earl regarded his companion, that the duke for a moment could not reply to him. At length, "My dear Dreddlington," said he, gently grasping his hand, "you are at present only a little excited—you will soon recover yourself. Let us ask Miss Macspleuchan to join us, as she is sitting all alone up-stairs."
"Not just now, Tantallan—I feel I have wandered a little, but all is now right again. He is gone, is he?" The duke nodded. "The sight of that man was at first too much for me; I felt oppressed and confused, but I thought it right to struggle against it!—He denied it all?—Is not that enough to drive a man out of his senses?"
"My dear Dreddlington, we shall get wrong again—let us quit the subject," said the duke, anxiously.
"No," replied the earl, languidly, "do not fear me; I feel quite myself again! I can only repeat to you, that that man's conversation with me about—about"—he shuddered—"as certainly happened, as the heavens are above us!" The earl had really, at all events for the present, recovered from the temporary confusion into which his thoughts had fallen; and proceeded, with as much energy as his shattered condition would admit of, to give the duke, as he had often done before, a distinct and consistent account of all that had taken place at Mr. Gammon's chambers:—and as he went on, it all of a sudden occurred to his Grace, for the first time—how improbable is it that Lord Dreddlington should have invented a scene, which he has uniformly delineated in almost the same words? What but truth and reality could enable him to preserve such a consistency in describing a transaction with such minute circumstantiality? Having once looked at the matter in this new light, every succeeding moment saw him more and more satisfied that such was the true view of it; and before he had quitted his unfortunate kinsman, he had pretty nearly convinced himself of three things; first, that Mr. Titmouse was a hideous little base-born miscreant and impostor; secondly, that Mr. Gammon must be the profoundest scoundrel living; and lastly, that it was very singular that he—the duke—had been so long in arriving at such a conclusion. But then, it subsequently occurred to the sagacious duke—how was he to act? What position was he to assume with Mr. Gammon, when he came, in the evening, in obedience to his Grace's own appointment? What reasons could he assign for his sudden change of opinion? Nothing new had occurred: and he felt a little embarrassed, seeing that all he should be able to say would be that he had at length suddenly taken a different view of facts long well known! At all events, he determined to put the brief of Mr. Titmouse's case, used at the trials, and which Mr. Gammon had some time before forwarded to his Grace's house, into the hands of some eminent lawyer, for a candid and confidential opinion.
Mr. Gammon, on quitting Lord Dreddlington's house, quickly recovered from the momentary shock which he had suffered in the earl's presence; and—shall I record the fact?—all other feelings and all his fears were merged in one of delight and exultation at the awful calamity which had befallen Lord Dreddlington: no one, Mr. Gammon considered, would thenceforth think of attaching the least importance to anything the earl might say, or had said, but would doubtless deem it the mere creation of a disordered brain. Then all that would be necessary, would be the silencing Titmouse—no difficult matter, since even he could comprehend that secrecy was to him a matter of salvation or destruction! But then, again, like a criminal's chance glance at the hideous guillotine or gallows in the distance—a recollection of the ecclesiastical inquiry, at that instant in vigorous action, blanched the cheek of Mr. Gammon, and dashed all his new hopes to the ground. If those infernal inquisitors should discover all, and thereby demonstrate Titmouse's illegitimacy, how perfectly frightful would be the position of Mr. Gammon! What would then avail him the insanity of Lord Dreddlington? Would it not, on the contrary, be then attributed to the right cause—the atrocious cruelty and villany which had been practised upon him? How irretrievably was Gammon committed by his repeated and solemn asseverations to Miss Macspleuchan and the Earl of Dreddlington? The evidence which sufficed to entitle Mr. Aubrey, in preference to Mr. Titmouse, to administer to Lady Stratton, would also suffice to entitle him to an immediate restoration to the Yatton property! And would the matter rest there? Would no steps be taken, in such an event, to fix him—Gammon—as a partner, or a prime mover, in the frauds and conspiracy by which alone, it would then be alleged, Titmouse had been enabled to recover the property? Absorbed by these pleasant contemplations, he was so lost to all around him, that he was within an ace of being crushed to death under the wheels of an enormous coal-wagon, which he had not seen approaching, as he crossed the street. It might, perhaps, have been well had it been so—the accident would certainly have saved him from a "sea of troubles," on which, for aught we can at present see, he may be tossed for the remainder of his life.
The chief object of Mr. Gammon's interview with the Earl of Dreddlington, had been to communicate to his Lordship information concerning the alarming position in which he stood with reference to the defunct Artificial Rain Company. The very prominent and active part which his Lordship had been seduced into taking, in the patronage and management of that Company, had naturally marked him out as the fittest object of attack to the creditors. The Company had no Act of Parliament, nor charter, nor deed of settlement; it was simply a huge unwieldy partnership, consisting of all such persons as could be shown to be interested, or to have held themselves out to the world as interested, in it: and consequently, whether individually known or not, liable to the public who had dealt with the Company, and given credit to it; on the very obvious principle of equity, that all who would seek to share the profits of a speculation must be responsible for its liabilities. In the present instance, had it not been for the circumstance of there being a considerable number of weak, inexperienced, but responsible adventurers, who, by entering into the affair, had become liable to share Lord Dreddlington's burden of responsibility, his Lordship must have been totally ruined to all intents and purposes.[16] As soon as Sir Sharper Bubble's absconding had opened the eyes of the public, and of the shareholders, it became necessary to take instant measures for ascertaining the exact state of affairs—and the liabilities which had been contracted. Heavens! what a frightful array of creditors now made their appearance against the Artificial Rain Company! It was inconceivable how so many, and to so immense an amount, could have arisen during the short period of the Company's being in existence; but the fact is, that there are always thousands of persons who, as soon as they once see individuals of undoubted responsibility fairly committed to a speculation of this sort, will give almost unlimited credit, and supply anything which may be ordered on behalf, or for the purposes, of the Company. It had originated in a supposed grand discovery of our philosophical friend, Dr. Diabolus Gander, that there were certain modes of operating upon the atmosphere, by means of electrical agency, which would insure an abundant supply of rain in seasons of the greatest drought. Now, first and foremost among the creditors of the Company, was that distinguished philosopher himself; who, to constitute himself effectually a creditor, had cunningly declined to take any shares in the concern!—He now claimed £1,700 for a series of "preliminary experiments," independently of compensation for his time and services in conducting the aforesaid experiments;—and, in order to put the question of liability beyond all doubt, the doctor had taken care, from time to time, to invite the more distinguished and wealthy of the shareholders to come and witness his doings—always carefully noting down their names, and the names also of the witnesses who could prove such attendance—the interest they took in the experiments—their expressed good wishes for the success of the Company, &c. &c., and their repeated acknowledgments of the uniform courtesy of the worthy doctor, who thought no pains too great to explain the nature of his surprising operations. Then, again, he had entered into an agreement, signed by Lord Dreddlington, and one or two others on behalf of the Company, by which he was appointed "permanent scientific director" for a period of ten years, at a salary of £1,000 a-year, over and above the sums agreed to be paid him for "collateral and supplementary services." This latter claim, however, the doctor very generously offered to compromise, in consideration of the exhalation of the Company, on payment of four thousand pounds down!! Then came a demand amounting to little short of £25,000 for an inconceivable quantity of copper wire, which had been purchased for the purpose of being used in all the cities and towns which chose to avail themselves of the services of the Company, in the following way:—viz. a complete circle of electric communication was to be obtained, by attaching wires to the summits of all the church steeples, and it was necessary that such wires should be of considerable strength and thickness, to prevent their being broken by birds flying against, and perching upon them: (But Dr. Gander intimated that he had very nearly discovered a mode of charging the wires, which would cause any bird coming into contact with them, immediately to fall down dead.) Then there were fearful charges for at least nine miles' length of leaden pipes and hose, and for steam-engines, and electrical machines, and so forth; particularly an item of eight thousand pounds for the expenses of trying the experiment in a village in the extremity of Cornwall, and which was very nearly completed, when the unfortunate event occurred which occasioned the sudden break up of the Company. This will suffice to give the uninitiated reader a glimpse of the real nature of the liabilities incurred by those who had become partners in this splendid undertaking. Dr. Gander got two actions commenced the very day after the departure of Sir Sharper Bubble, against six of the principal shareholders, in respect of his "preliminary experiments," and his agreement for ten years' service; and writs came fluttering in almost daily; all which occurrences rendered it necessary to take measures for coming speedily to an amicable compromise. After very great exertions, and attending many meetings, Mr. Gammon succeeded in provisionally extricating Lord Dreddlington, on his paying down, within twelve months, the sum of £18,000; the Duke of Tantallan was in for some £8,000, the Marquis of Marmalade for £6,000: and the latter two peers made the most solemn vows never to have anything to do again with joint-stock companies: though it must be owned that they had been, as the phrase is, "let off easily." But I must not disguise from the reader that the Artificial Rain Company was not the only one with which these distinguished individuals, together with Lord Dreddlington, had become connected—there was the Gunpowder and Fresh Water Company, of which Messrs. Quirk, Gammon, and Snap, were the solicitors—but sufficient for the day is the evil thereof; and let it suffice for the present to say, that some short time afterwards, the Duke of Tantallan, on the part of the Earl of Dreddlington, paid down the sum of £10,000 on account of the above-mentioned sum of £18,000, the remainder of which was to be called for in six months' time. Mr. Gammon, however, could not think of the possibility of the Gunpowder Company's explosion without a shudder, on account of the dreadful extent to which Lord Dreddlington was implicated, and from which Gammon feared that there really were no means of extricating him. What would he have given never to have seduced the earl into embarking into any such speculations? Nay, what would he not have given, never to have set eyes upon either the Earl of Dreddlington or the Lady Cecilia? What advantage had he ever gained, after all, by his desperate grasp after aristocratic connection? If, however, the earl should prove really and permanently insane, what a godsend would such an event be, in every point of view, to Gammon—silencing forever the chief sufferer and witness—and saving Gammon from all the endless vexations and anxieties arising out of personal explanations and collisions with the man, whom he had drawn into the vortex of pecuniary ruin—shielding Gammon, in short, from a world of reproaches and execrations.
As for Mr. Titmouse, the fortunate (!) possessor of ten thousand a-year—as thousands, with a sigh of envy, regarded him—the uninitiated who had an opportunity of watching his public motions, gave him credit for feeling very deeply the melancholy bereavement which he had sustained in the loss of the Lady Cecilia; but those more intimately acquainted with his family circumstances, could not help remarking one little ingredient of pleasure in his recent cup of bitterness; viz. that as Lady Cecilia had left no offspring—no dear pledge of affection—Mr. Titmouse was not only saved a vast deal of anxiety as to the bringing up of the child, but had become himself heir-apparent to the barony of Drelincourt, on the death of the Earl of Dreddlington; who, whatever might be the effect of his whispered misfortunes in his pecuniary speculations, had not the power, being merely tenant for life under the entail, of injuring the fortune annexed to the title. Though Mr. Gammon loathed the very sight, the very thought, of Titmouse, he was yet the centre of prodigious anxiety to Gammon, who felt that he had, at all events at present, a deep stake in the upholding, to the world, of Mr. Titmouse's position and credit. He had been frightened by Gammon into a state of the most abject submission to all his requirements—one of which was, the preservation of that external decorum, when in public, which had produced the very favorable impression already adverted to. The other was—a vast contraction of his expenditure. Mr. Gammon insisted upon his disposing of his house in Park Lane—which had, indeed, been for months almost destitute of furniture, that having fallen a prey to divers of his execution-creditors—but engaged for him a suit of handsome furnished apartments in Chapel Street, May Fair, allowing him the attendance of a valet, as usual; and also hiring for him a cab, tiger, groom, and a couple of saddle-horses, with which Mr. Titmouse contrived to make an appearance, before so much of the world as was left in London during the autumn, suitable to his station. Some of the more clamorous of his creditors, Mr. Gammon had contrived to pacify by considerable payments on account, and a solemn assurance that every one of Mr. Titmouse's debts was in train for rapid liquidation. Could his creditors, indeed—Gammon asked—fail to see and judge for themselves, what an altered man, in his person and habits, Mr. Titmouse had become, since the shock he had received on the death of Lady Cecilia? Had, indeed, he felt never so disposed to re-enter the scenes of gay and expensive profligacy in which he had revelled so madly during the first eighteen months after his extraordinary exaltation; there was a serious obstacle to his doing so, in his having neglected to pay divers heavy "debts of honor," as they are strangely called; for which delinquencies he had twice had his nose pulled in public, and once been horsewhipped. The gates of the sporting world were thus finally closed against him, and thus was at least one source of profligate expenditure shut out. Though, however, he was free to ride or drive whithersoever he chose—and that, too, as became a man of fashion, in respect of appearance and equipment—he felt but a prisoner at large, and dependent entirely upon the will and pleasure of Mr. Gammon for his very means of subsistence. Most of his evenings were spent in such of the theatres as were open, while his nights were often passed amid scenes which were very strange ones indeed for a young widower to be seen in! Though he was a frequent visitor at Brookes', I must nevertheless do that respectable club the justice of saying, that its members were not very anxious for the presence or company of Mr. Titmouse. In fact, but for the continued countenance afforded to him, for reasons best known to that gentleman, by Mr. O'Gibbet, my friend would have been, some time before, unceremoniously expelled from the club, where he had made, certainly, one or two exceedingly disagreeable exhibitions. Liquor was made for fools to get drunk with, and so shorten their encumbering existence upon the earth; and as for Titmouse, I really do not think he ever went to bed completely sober; and he avowed, that "whenever he was alone, he felt so miserable;" and there was only one way, he said, which he knew of to "drive dull care away." Though aware of it in point of fact, Titmouse had neither sense nor sensibility enough to appreciate the fearful frailty of that tenure by which he held his present advantages of station—never reflecting that he was liable at any moment to be precipitated down from his elevation, into far deeper obscurity and poverty than he had ever emerged from! He had no power of enhancing his enjoyment of the present, either by vivid contrast with the past, or with the possible reverses of the future. A wealthy and profligate fool is by no means the enviable person he may appear to silly lookers-on; but what must he be when placed in the circumstances of Titmouse? He found town, at a dull season—the fall of the year to be sure—become daily duller, the sphere of his enjoyments having become so miserably contracted; and Mr. Gammon more and more stern and gloomy; in fact, Titmouse always dreaded to go near him, for he enjoined on Titmouse, whenever they met, a circumspection which was new and intolerable. He was refused admission at Lord Dreddlington's; the Duke of Tantallan's he dared not go near. When, in the Park, he met the earl's chariot—a dismal object indeed to him—driving slowly along—all in deep mourning—the place of Lady Cecilia occupied now by Miss Macspleuchan, and the shattered old white-haired man beside her, taking evidently no notice of anything about him; if Titmouse caught Miss Macspleuchan's eye, it was instantly removed, as from a disgusting object. He never met that carriage without a shudder, and a violent one, at thought of the frightful fraud of which he had been at first the unconscious instrument, but to which he was now a consenting party. He had earnestly besought Mr. Gammon to allow him to spend a few months on the Continent, and provide him with funds to do so; but on due consideration, Mr. Gammon refused, in the very critical conjuncture of existing circumstances—at all events till he should have been furnished with some clew to the course which the pending investigation was taking. But Mr. Gammon consented to his going down to Yatton; so down he went, but to encounter only sullen faces; servants whose wages were in arrear; tenants whom his exactions were ruining; the friends of Mudflint and Bloodsuck indignant at his not coming forward to rescue them from impending destruction; and his constituency furious at the number of bills remaining unpaid; at his total disregard of their interests in Parliament; and his contemptible and ridiculous conduct and appearance there, which had made them the laughing-stock of the nation. As for any of the nobility or gentry of the neighborhood, of course their notice of him was quite out of the question. From good little Dr. Tatham, even, he could get nothing more than a cold and guarded civility; in fact, Mr. Titmouse was fifty times more miserable at Yatton than he had been in London; and, moreover, the old Hall had been completely stripped of the handsome furniture that had been put into it on his coming into possession, by his voracious execution-creditors; and all he could do here to enjoy existence, was to smoke, and drink brandy and water. He felt an impostor; that he had no right to be there; no claim to the respect or attention of any one. Through the noble grounds of Yatton, amid the soft melancholy sunshine of October, he walked, frightened and alone; a falling leaf alighting on him would make him start with apprehension, and almost drop his cigar. While such was the dreary aspect of things at Yatton, what was the condition of Mr. Gammon in London?
It is not possible that any one who betakes himself to tortuous modes of effecting his purposes, and of securing the objects which a keen ambition may have proposed to him, can be happy. The perpetual dread of detection and failure, causes him to lie, as it were, ever writhing upon a bed of torture. To feel one's self failing, irretrievably, in spite of deeply-laid, desperate, and dishonorable schemes for securing success, is sickening and miserable indeed. One in such circumstances feels that the bitterness of disappointment will not be mitigated or assuaged by a consciousness of the sympathy and respect of those who have witnessed the unsuccessful attempts—a thought which is deadening to the soul; and Gammon felt himself among the most miserable of mankind. All other anxieties were, however, at present absorbed in one—that concerning the issue of the inquiry then pending; and which, as it were, darkened his spirit within him, and hung round his neck like a millstone. If the issue of that investigation should be adverse—he had absolutely nothing for it but instant flight from universal scorn and execration. Of what avail would then have been all his prodigious anxieties, sacrifices, and exertions, his deep-laid and complicated plans and purposes? He would have irretrievably damned himself, for what? To allow the wretch Titmouse to revel, for a season, in unbounded luxury and profligacy! What single personal advantage had Mr. Gammon hitherto obtained for himself, taxed to their utmost as had been his powerful energies for the last three years? First of all, as to Miss Aubrey, the lovely object of his intense desires—what advance had he made towards the accomplishment of his objects after all his profound and cruel treachery against her brother? Not a hair's-breadth. Nay, on the contrary, the slight footing of intimacy which he had contrived, in the first instance, to secure, he had now lost forever. Could they have failed to perceive, in spite of all his devices, his relentless hand in the recent persecution of Mr. Aubrey? The stern deportment of Mr. Runnington, who had expressly prohibited Mr. Aubrey from all communication with Messrs. Quirk, Gammon, and Snap, except through Mr. Runnington himself—spoke volumes. Moreover, Mr. Gammon had chanced to be prowling about Vivian Street on the very evening on which Lord De la Zouch made his unexpected appearance with Mr. Aubrey, as already described; and Gammon had seen Mr. Aubrey, Mrs. Aubrey, and Miss Aubrey, followed by his Lordship, enter his carriage in dinner-costume; and he thought with a violent pang of one Mr. Delamere! He had also ascertained how suddenly his Lordship had come over from Paris—just at that crisis in the circumstances of the Aubreys; and how probable was it, that his Lordship's potent interference had originated the formidable proceedings of the ecclesiastical court! And suppose the result of them should be, to detect the imposition by means of which Titmouse had been enabled to oust Mr. Aubrey from Yatton—what must she—what must they all—think of Mr. Gammon, after his avowal to Miss Aubrey? Inevitably, that he had either originally contrived, or, having long since discovered, was now conniving at, the imposture! And what if she really were now all the while engaged to the future Lord De la Zouch? And if the present Lord De la Zouch, with his immense revenues, were resolved to bear Mr. Aubrey through all his difficulties and troubles with a high hand? Had not Gammon already felt the power of Lord De la Zouch in the late accursed bribery actions? And imagining his Lordship to have been stimulated to set on foot the pending proceedings, by the communication of Miss Aubrey concerning Mr. Gammon's own admissions to her—was his Lordship likely to falter in his purposes?
Look again at the financial difficulties which were thickening around him. Between sixty and seventy thousand pounds had been already raised on mortgage of the Yatton estates!—and not a shilling more could now be obtained without additional and collateral security, which Gammon could not procure. Then there was the interest payable half-yearly on these mortgages, which alone swallowed up some £3,500 annually. In addition to this, Titmouse was over head-and-ears in debt; and he must be supported all the while in a manner suitable to his station; and an establishment must be kept up at Yatton. How, with all this, was Mr. Gammon's own dearly bought rent-charge to be realized? The already overburdened property was totally unequal to bear this additional pressure. Again, if his motion, which was to be made in the ensuing term for a new trial in the case of Wigley v. Gammon, should fail, there he was left at the mercy of the plaintiff for a sum very considerably exceeding £3,000 (including the heavy costs,) and capable of being immediately enforced by incarceration of his person, or seizure of his goods! Mr. Gammon, moreover, had been unfortunate in some gambling speculations in the funds, by which means the money he had so quickly made, had been as quickly lost. It was true, there were the probable proceeds of the two promissory notes now put in suit against Mr. Aubrey, and also the bond of Lord De la Zouch himself, in all amounting to twenty thousand pounds, with interest: but months must necessarily elapse before, even in the ordinary course, the actions for the recovery of these sums could be brought to a successful issue—to say nothing of any disastrous occurrence which Gammon could just conceive the possibility of, and which might have the effect of fatally impugning the right of action of Mr. Titmouse. Gammon had repeatedly turned in his mind the propriety of raising money by assignment of the bond of Lord De la Zouch, but for several reasons had deemed it inexpedient to venture upon such a step. For instance, the bond would be due within a month or two; and who would advance any serious sum on so large a security, without rigorous inquiries into the original validity of the instrument, and into the right of the obligee to put it in suit. Supposing the issue of the ecclesiastical inquiry to be adverse, and Titmouse's title to the Yatton property to be destroyed; would not that at once invalidate his claims upon the bond, and also upon the two promissory notes—at all events in equity? Lastly, his hopes of political advancement, to which he clung with incredible tenacity, full blooming though they had been till the moment of his being sued for the bribery penalties, were all in danger of being blighted forever, unless he could succeed in defeating the verdict during the ensuing term, of which he entertained scarce any expectation at all. But even supposing him successful there—what was to become of him if the issue of the pending ecclesiastical proceedings should brand him as abetting imposture of the most gross and glaring description—nay, as being in fact its originator? Once or twice, during his frequent agitating reviews of all these events and circumstances, he caught, as it were, a ghastly glimpse of a sort of system of RETRIBUTION in progress—and was able to trace evil consequences—of defeat and misery—from every single act which he had done!
Success or failure in the ecclesiastical suit, was now in fact the pivot upon which everything turned with Mr. Gammon—it would be either his salvation, or his destruction; and the thought of it kept him in a state of feverish trepidation and excitement, from morning to night—rendering him almost wholly incapable of attending to his professional business. He had gone down several times, accompanied by Mr. Quod, to ascertain, as far as was practicable, the course which things were taking. Mr. Quod was very sanguine indeed as to the issue; but, alas! Gammon had not ventured to tell him the true state of the case: so that Quod naturally confined himself to the substantiating of Mr. Titmouse's pedigree, as it had been propounded, and with success, at the trial of the ejectment. Mr. Gammon trembled at the systematic and vigorous prosecution of the cause on the part of Mr. Aubrey; what might it not elicit? Regardless of the consequences, he had several times tried to discover from those who had been examined, the course of inquiry which had been pursued, and the evidence which had been obtained from them—but in vain: some of the witnesses were in a station of society which repelled his advances; and others were effectually deterred from communicativeness by the injunctions of the commissioner. Thus Mr. Gammon could ascertain nothing—and was left to await, in fearful suspense, the legitimate issue of this tantalizing and mysterious process, till the day when both parties should be put in possession of all the evidence which had been obtained.
The prospects of the Aubreys, brightened though they had been by the sudden interference of Lord De la Zouch at the very moment of their deepest gloom, did not disturb that calm and peaceful course of life which they had maintained through all their troubles. Oh, how animated and happy, however, was now that little family!—and that, not through any overweening confidence as to the result of Lord De la Zouch's operations on their behalf, but from a pious and cheerful persuasion that they were not forsaken of Heaven, which had given this token of its remembrance. The beautiful bloom began to reappear on the cheeks both of Mrs. Aubrey and Kate, and the eye of Mr. Aubrey was no longer laden with gloom and anxiety. He pursued the study of the law with steadfast energy till the period of Mr. Mansfield's quitting town, and his chambers being closed till the beginning of November. The Aubreys, poor souls! secretly pined for a glimpse, however brief, of the pleasures of the country; and about the middle of September, they, sure enough, received a very pressing invitation from Lord and Lady De la Zouch, for all of them to join them in France, by way of a total and enlivening change of scene. Mrs. Aubrey and Kate had all but persuaded Mr. Aubrey into an acceptance of the kind suit, when he suddenly bethought himself of what he deemed an insuperable obstacle. It will be borne in mind that Mr. Aubrey had given bail to a very large amount, nearly sixteen thousand pounds, in the two actions at the suit of Mr. Titmouse, and of Messrs. Quirk, Gammon, and Snap; and, on inquiry, two of the friends who had become surety for him were abroad and could not be communicated with; so Mr. Aubrey peremptorily refused, under such circumstances, to quit the country, though for never so brief an interval. On seriously assuring Lord De la Zouch that there existed insuperable objections to his just then leaving England, the ever-active kindness of his noble friend prompted a fresh proposal,—that they should, within a week's time, all of them, set off for a lovely residence of his Lordship's in Essex, some fifteen miles from town, called Tunstall Priory—where they would find everything fully prepared for their reception, and where they were earnestly entreated to remain till they should be joined by their host and hostess from France, about the latter end of October. 'T is quite impossible for me to describe the exhilaration of spirits with which, the invitation having been most gratefully accepted by Mr. Aubrey, they all prepared for their little journey. Mr. Aubrey had made arrangements for their going down by one of the coaches, which went within a couple of miles of the Priory; but here again the thoughtful delicacy and kindness of his Lordship was manifest; for the evening before they set off, one of the servants from Dover Street came to ask at what hour they would wish the carriage to call for them, and the van for their luggage—such being the orders which had come from his Lordship; and further, that the carriage was to remain at their command during the whole of their stay at the Priory. Both Mrs. Aubrey and Kate, in their excitement, burst into tears on hearing of this additional trait of anxious and considerate attention. Oh! it would have cheered your heart, good reader, to see the blithe faces, and bounding spirits, with which that little family set off on the ensuing morning on their little expedition. Oh! how refreshing was the country air!—how enlivening and beautiful the country scenery amid the gentle sunlight of September!—'T was a Paradise of a place—and as day after day glided away, they felt a sense of the enjoyment of existence, such as they had never experienced before!
Though it is not a very pleasant transition, the order of events requires us to return to town, and to no very pleasant part of town, viz. Thavies' Inn. 'T was about eight o'clock in the evening, towards the close of October, and Mr. Gammon was walking to and fro about his room, which was rendered sufficiently snug by the light of a lamp and the warmth of a good fire. He himself, however, was very far from being cheerful—he was in a state of exquisite anxiety and suspense—and might well be; for he was at length in momentary expectation of receiving a copy of the evidence which had been taken on the part of Mr. Aubrey, in the ecclesiastical suit. He muttered blighting curses at the intolerable delay of old Mr. Quod, who, Mr. Gammon felt assured, might have procured a copy of the evidence several hours before, with only moderate exertion. Twice had his messenger been despatched in vain; and he was now absent on the third errand to Mr. Quod's chambers. At length Mr. Gammon heard a heavy footstep ascending the stairs—he knew it, and, darting to the door, opened it just as his messenger had reached the landing with a bulky white packet under his arm, sealed, and tied with red tape.
"Ah!—that will do. Thank you, thank you!—call to-morrow morning," said Gammon, hastily, almost snatching the packet out of the man's hand.
"Mrs. Brown—don't let me be disturbed to-night by any one—on any earthly consideration," said he, with feverish impetuosity, to his laundress; and, having ordered her to close the outer door, he re-entered his sitting-room, and with a beating heart burst open the seals, tape, and cartridge-paper, and fastened in an instant with devouring eyes upon the pregnant enclosure. Over page after page he glanced with lightning speed, his breathing unconsciously accelerated the while. When he had got to about the middle of the evidence, his breath was for a minute suspended, while his affrighted eye travelled down a couple of pages, which told him all—all he had feared to see, and more—more than he had known himself. "Ah, perdition—the game is up!" he faintly exclaimed, and, rising from his chair, threw himself down upon the sofa, in a state of dismay and bewilderment which no words of mine are powerful enough to describe.
Quite as much anxiety had been felt on the same subject in a different quarter, during the whole of the day, at the Priory; where were still the Aubreys, who had been joined a week before by Lord and Lady De la Zouch, and by Mr. Delamere, who had come over with them from the Continent. Mr. Runnington had written to assure Mr. Aubrey, that the first moment of his being able to procure a copy of the evidence, he would come down with it in a post-chaise and four. As, however, nine o'clock elapsed without his having made his appearance, Mr. Delamere slipped out, and without announcing his intention, ordered his groom to have his horses in readiness instantly; and within a quarter of an hour's time he was on his way to town, having left a hasty verbal message, acquainting Lord and Lady De la Zouch of the object of his sudden move. When he reached Mr. Runnington's offices, he found no one there, to his infinite disappointment. Having slept in Dover Street, he reappeared at Mr. Runnington's about ten o'clock the next morning, and found a chaise and four at the door, into which Mr. Runnington, with a large packet under his arm, was in the very act of entering, to drive down to the Priory.
"How is it—for God's sake?" said Mr. Delamere, rushing forward to Mr. Runnington, who was sufficiently surprised at seeing him.
"Oh, thank God! The battle's ours!"—replied Mr. Runnington, with delighted excitement. "The murder's out!—I'll pledge my existence that within three months' time we have them all back at Yatton!"
"You're off instantly, are not you?" inquired Delamere, his face blanched with emotion.
"To be sure—won't you come with me?" replied Mr. Runnington.
"Rattle away, my lads, and here's a guinea a-piece for you!" shouted Delamere to the post-boys—and the next moment they were on their way, and at indeed a rapid pace. In somewhere about an hour and a quarter's time, the reeking horses and dusty chaise dashed up to the hall-door of the Priory; and, as Delamere caught one or two figures standing at the windows, he waved his hand in triumph through the chaise-window. That brought Lord and Lady De la Zouch and Mr. and Mrs. Aubrey, breathless to the door—out jumped Delamere, without waiting for the steps to be let down, and, grasping the hands of all four, exclaimed with enthusiasm—"Victory!—victory!—but where is she—?"
"Miss Aubrey's somewhere in the grounds, sir," replied a servant.
"Mr. Runnington will tell you all"—said Delamere; and springing off the step, was out of sight in a twinkling, in quest of Miss Aubrey—burning to be the first with the joyful news. He soon caught sight of her graceful figure—she was standing with her back towards him, apparently in a musing posture, gazing at the bubbling rivulet. Hearing his bounding steps, she turned round, and started at seeing him.
"Oh, Kate, Kate!" he stammered breathlessly, "by Heaven, we've won!"—Miss Aubrey turned very pale.
"Mr. Delamere—you—you—cannot be—I hope you are not mistaken"——said she, faintly.
"On my sacred word of honor, I have seen—I have read it all myself! 'T is as sure as that the sun is shining—The game is up with the villains!" Miss Aubrey made him no answer; her cheek continued white as that of a statue; and it was absolutely necessary that he should put his arm around her—if he had not, she would have fallen.
"Come!—Come! My sweet, my lovely Kate! Rouse yourself!" cried he, with fond anxiety, and pressed his lips gently on her forehead—a liberty of which she was probably not conscious, for she made no show of resistance. Presently she heaved a deep sigh, her eyes opened, and, finding herself entirely in his embrace, she made a slight effort to disengage herself, but in vain. He was supporting her on one knee—for there was no bench or seat within view. She burst into tears, and they soon relieved her pent-up bosom of its excitement.
"Dearest—sweetest Kate—it's glorious news, and I have been too hasty with it!" said he, excitedly.
"No—no—Mr. Delamere! I am only overpowered with joy and with gratitude! Oh, Mr. Delamere, I could sink out of your sight!"
"Pho! my own angel!—Don't make me miserable by talking in that strain!"
"Well, what shall I say?" cried she, passionately, bursting again into tears, and turning her face from him, conscious that it was reddening.
"Say, Kate? That you will let me love you, and will love me in return! Come, my own Kate! Heaven smiles on you—smile you on me!" She spoke not—-but sobbed, her face still averted from him.
"I know you won't say me nay, Kate, if it's only for the news I've brought you express"—said Delamere, ardently, and imprinted a passionate kiss on her unresisting lips.
"My sweet Kate! how I have thought of you in every part of the world in which I've been"—commenced Delamere, after having a second and a third and a fourth time pressed his lips upon those of his beautiful and blushing mistress; and Heaven only knows what other absurdities he might have been guilty of, when to Kate's inconceivable embarrassment, behold, a sudden turn brought them full in view of Lord and Lady De la Zouch and Mr. Runnington.
"My dear, dear Miss Aubrey," cried Lord De la Zouch, "we have come to congratulate you on this great event!" and he grasped her affectionately by the hands, and then Lady De la Zouch embraced her future daughter-in-law, whose cheeks burned like fire, while those of Mr. Delamere tingled a little.
"Upon my honor, sir, you seem to have been making hay while the sun shines," said his Lordship, in a low tone, and laughing, having left Miss Aubrey and Lady De la Zouch together for a few moments.
"Dearest Lady De la Zouch, how did Charles bear it?" inquired Miss Aubrey.
"He bore it with calmness, though he turned very pale; but poor Mrs. Aubrey was very painfully excited—it was really a most affecting scene. But she is much better now—shall we return to the house?—By the way," added she, slyly, "now you're come into your fortune, as the saying is, Kate—I—I suppose—eh?—Geoffrey has been talking nonsense to you!" Poor Kate blushed deeply, and burst into tears.
That was a happy—happy day; and Mr. Runnington, having been compelled to stay to dinner, returned home at a late hour feeling already richly repaid for all his exertions. Miss Aubrey sat up for at least a couple of hours in her own room, writing, according to a promise she had made, a very long letter to Dr. Tatham; in which she gave him as full an account as she could, of the surprising and decisive event which had just happened. 'T was quite the letter of a daughter to a fond father—full of ardent affection, and joyous anticipations of seeing him again; but as to the other little incident of the day, which concerned herself personally, Kate paused—laid down her pen—resumed it—blushed—hesitated—trembled—and at length extinguished her taper, and retired to rest, saying to herself that she would think of it, and make up her mind by the morning.
The letter went off, however, after all, without the slightest allusion to the possibility of its lovely writer becoming a future Lady De la Zouch.
But it is now high time that the reader should be put into possession of the important disclosures produced by the ecclesiastical inquiry; and we must for a while lose sight of the happy Aubreys, and also of the gloomy, discomfited Gammon, in order to become acquainted with the exact state of facts which had called forth such violent and opposite emotions.
